


reject your doubt and release the passion

by partiallight



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partiallight/pseuds/partiallight
Summary: “I’m the Crystal Exarch. Nothing less, nothing more.”“Isn’t it tiresome, being reduced to your function? Not that I can talk, considering the name I use is nothing but a title as well.”“That is all I live for, and it’s all I need.”
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	reject your doubt and release the passion

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly before Shadowbringers!

“The Exarch is holding a masquerade in the Crystal Tower to celebrate the Crystarium’s 100th anniversary!” 

This has been the talk of the city for the past week. Of course, the Exarch knows, this will take the citizen’s minds off the threat of the sin eaters. It’s an evening of sin, one might say— revelry, perhaps even venery, but perhaps even most importantly: disobedience.

The everlasting light will never steal their joy.

But the Exarch’s sin this evening might yet be the only one truly sinful, for his is  _ deceit _ . His costume is handcrafted, and he’s cast a glamour on himself that hides the crystal in his face. A black robe of intricate design, a mask as red as Dalamud. No particular design belonging to any specific person, of course.

He’ll make the perfect Ascian, and what else would he be for the purposes of Ascian-finding?

He puts on the hood and uses one of the hidden exits of the tower. It’s time soon. He’ll send a glamour in his stead to do the opening speech of the masquerade.

(It’s not that he  _ intended  _ to deceive the citizens in order to catch the Ascian that has made his way into the Crystarium’s walls, it’s more that in order to lure out an Ascian you need a suitable bait. Such as the Crystal Tower itself.)

He mingles with the people waiting to be allowed to enter; most of them are easy to recognize, with some rather ambitious children having opted to try and make a costume akin to his own Exarch garb. It’s really more of a costume party than a masquerade. No matter.

Just when he is about to wonder where Lyna is, she opens the front doors.

_ Showtime _ .

* * *

After his glamour’s opening speeches, the Exarch scans the guests for anyone seeming suspicious enough to be his mark. He spots a couple of the Scions (among them, perhaps most interestingly, Thancred and Ryne) as well as some poorly disguised Eulmoran soldiers that he will have to have Lyna take care of.

No sign of his mark. He moves to get up from his seat to start looking, but stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Most amusing,” he hears a quiet masculine voice behind himself say. “That we would have such a similar costume idea.” 

He turns around to find that the hand belongs to a tall figure in a plain black robe, with a mask not unlike his own, except it’s white.

All of it lacks any fancy design, yet it seems entirely intended, and the robes look  _ right  _ on the man.  _ Too  _ right.

_ Exert caution. _

The Exarch laughs, deliberately choosing the tone of voice he used to be so familiar with a century ago to mask his identity further. “Indeed, it’s amusing. What inspired you?”

“Well, you see, the Ondo have old literature on an ancient society advanced far beyond this one, and I tried to imagine what one of them would wear.” The man reaches over to the bottle of wine on the table, presses ever so slightly on the Exarch’s shoulder to motion for him to properly sit down, and pours in a glass. “I hope you like your wine red.”

“I don’t mind it,” the Exarch says, which is not a lie; he’s not a fan of wine in general. It doesn’t get him drunk, because this body can barely get drunk in the first place. And it doesn’t taste all that great, either.

(As he drinks, he makes his glamour inform Lyna of the Eulmoran soldiers that have invaded.)

“It takes the mind off things.” The man drinks from his own glass. “To most people, anyway. Now, if you’ll indulge my curiosity. What made you choose this costume?”

The Exarch tilts his head. “A traveler once told me of those who seek to alter the course of history. Immortals, seeking to bring destruction wherever they go. I thought it was a rather harrowing tale, even if it was impressive. So I figured my costume would do it justice.”

He can see the man hesitate for a bit, then a fake-looking smile forms. “Destruction, huh? If those people truly exist, I bet they would disagree. And—” He touches the Exarch’s mask, then the invisible crystal right below where it ends. “Their masks would surely have more identifying designs.”   


_ Found my mark. _

“Well, I don’t know any of them in particular.” The Exarch takes the man’s hand off his face. “Do you?”

“What if I did?”

“Then surely you would be able to tell me what one of them would do in the Crystarium.”

The man laughs. “So that’s your strategy? You’re every bit as fascinating as you seemed,  _ Exarch _ .”

“Fascinating is not the word I would choose,  _ Ascian _ . But I’ll take the compliment if it will earn me an answer?” The Exarch smirks ever so slightly, still going with the act of his former youthful self. At least until they're out of hearing range of the other guests.

“Perhaps if we were to be safe from prying eyes…?”

“That can be arranged.”

* * *

The room the Exarch chooses is the Ocular, to his own dismay. Any other room would currently be revealing too much information to his enemy, and he can’t have that.

“How forward, you let me into your private quarters.”

“I can hardly call them private if my guards are allowed in here.”

“A boring answer.” The Ascian looks around and makes an annoyed expression. “You’re not one to value comfort, are you?”

The Exarch’s expression sets into a scowl. “It is not a necessity.”

“Barely anything is for someone with my or your lifespan.” The Ascian stretches ever so slightly. “And yet you seem to punish yourself.”

“Enough of me. Who are you, and what are you doing in this city?” The Exarch takes off the mask, and with that his normal robes and hood appear on him. The advantages of glamour.

“Not  _ your  _ city?” The Ascian snaps his fingers, and the disguise disappears. This is the appearance he had when the Exarch first spotted him a week ago. Solus zos Galvus.

“The city belongs to all of us.”

“That’s the kind of attitude that gets empires killed.”

“Good thing this is not an empire, then.” The Exarch grits his teeth.

There’s a moment of much welcome silence before the Ascian raises his voice. “Emet-Selch.”

“Emet-Selch?”

“My name.”

“Not Solus zos Galvus?”

“Many names, same man.” Emet-Selch takes another sip of the glass of wine he has taken along. Of course, the Exarch did not take his own glass along, for he would rather not be seen drinking wine with an Ascian. “I’m sure the same could be said for you.”

“I’m the Crystal Exarch. Nothing less, nothing more.”

“Isn’t it tiresome, being reduced to your function? Not that I can talk, considering the name I use is nothing but a title as well.”

“That is all I live for, and it’s all I need.” Or so the Exarch would like to convince himself.

Emet-Selch regards him with a doubtful expression. “Then why do you always look so homesick?”

_ Right where it hurts, huh. _ “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

The response is laughter. “I didn’t know you have bite in you, Exarch.”

“I didn’t know Ascians could be so eager to converse.” The Exarch crosses his arms. 

“Of course I am. That’s why I came to this city, after all. To find out more about the man who’s been getting in the way of my plans.” Emet-Selch walks forwards until there is barely any distance between them. “Though I must say that your use of your powers is rather clumsy.”

“What do you mean?” The Exarch takes a step back before realizing he’s with his back to the wall.

“Summoning ghosts instead of complete people, barely making use of the energy you have at your disposal. It’s almost like you don’t want to succeed at whatever your desire appears to be.” Emet-Selch puts his hand on the wall next to the Exarch’s head.

“Well, why won’t you tell me what I could improve then, since you seem to know?” The Exarch pulls his cowl further into his face to ensure it is not seen.

“Use yourself as the conduit for your magic, not your staff. That’s just a plaything. Creation magic comes from the caster’s vision, and if you wish to create a path, then the power should be channeled through that vision, and not through any secondary instruments.” Emet-Selch smirks. “Then again, ones like you can probably not pull it off.”

The Exarch can feel the youthful competitive spirit inside him stirring. He didn’t  _ fully  _ understand what Emet-Selch said, but he understood enough to consider putting it into practice. Of course, it could absolutely go wrong; but considering all these years of fruitless attempts at summoning the Warrior of Light, he might as well try.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the next thing he feels are cold lips on his.

_ What the— _

He takes a moment to process what is happening, reluctantly ignores that he has not had proper physical contact with anyone in the past couple centuries… and bites down before pushing Emet-Selch away.

(He chalks this reaction up to Miqo’te being felines.)

Emet-Selch moves away from him and, with an amused expression, wipes the blood off his lip. “You didn’t have to bite  _ that  _ hard. I was just claiming my reward.”

“You disgust me.” It slipped out, this expression of anger. The Exarch can taste Emet-Selch’s blood on his lips, and it’s weirdly satisfying. Like a victory back in the day would have been.

“Well, it did answer my question. You do drop your serious act when you’re angry.” Emet-Selch laughs and turns around. “Well then, I’ve found out what I wanted to, I will be seeing myself out. Have some wine for me ready next time, will you?”

“I—”

“Until then.” Emet-Selch waves and disappears through a dark portal.

_ Damn it. _

It is then that the Exarch touches his lips and sighs upon the realization that he’s been played for a fool.

_ He was never after the tower’s secrets. He was after  _ my  _ secrets . _


End file.
